Last Man Standing
by lucifer ravana
Summary: One must be careful. After a Republic has been won and an ideal set into motion, a revolution can very well devour itself. Not simply a game played by rich, young boys.


AN: Will never understand why anyone takes what I write seriously. I should just start a new series entitled 'What happens when boredom strikes' and include my less-than-stellar ideas within it. In any case, this is another drabble written for the fest.

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The red blot spread across Joly's chest. He stumbled backwards into Bossuet's arms. "Avenge me," he whispered before he shut his eyes.

"You're so melodramatic," Bossuet said playfully as he hauled Joly out of what he thought was Feuilly's line of sight.

"Be nice to me! I've been shot! And I've got a cold! Now go avenge me or die trying."

"Yes, sir."

The issue was, more or less, getting to where Feuilly had perched himself. The roof of the abandoned warehouse was difficult to access. Bossuet had to recruit Prouvaire's aid for it.

Prouvaire, for his part, had recruited Marius to help lift him up onto his shoulders while he held up Bossuet on his own.

"Aren't I on the other team?" Marius asked.

"Shh," said Prouvaire. "You're on ours. Don't you remember?"

Marius didn't. He also didn't understand the point of this game. Wasn't it just another way of destroying his clothing?

It didn't help that as soon as Prouvaire and Bossuet were on the roof, Prouvaire turned around and shot Marius in the chest. "Winner!" He exclaimed as he dodged away from the edge of the roof.

Feuilly didn't go down easily. He shot Prouvaire in the chest, which Jehan tried to block with his hand. He ended up with a broken nail.

Bossuet, attempting to be stealthy, ended up crash-landing into Feuilly and firing off a shot. Unfortunately, he managed to hit both of them, expelling himself and Feuilly from the game.

Courfeyrac was having the devil's own luck when it came to paintball. More accustomed to swords, he was glad that his opponent seemed to be Bahorel for now, who also had an issue with long-range. Down to his final paint ball, Courfeyrac knew he would have to aim carefully. Even if he got Bahorel down, he would still need to contend with Enjolras and Grantaire. To make matters worse, the only one on his team that he still had communication with was Combeferre.

"Hope you have enough pellets for them all," he whispered.

He wasn't prepared for the raging rhino that was Bahorel. Apparently his opponent had tossed aside any pretence of range and was intending on shooting Courfeyrac point-blank. Courfeyrac just had to be faster.

Years of learning how to fence granted Courfeyrac an advantage when it came to agility. He hit Bahorel with paint at the same time that Bahorel hit him with his body.

Winded, Courfeyrac let out a grunt as Bahorel sheepishly got off of him. He had enough honor not to attack Courfeyrac since he'd already been 'shot'.

"Sorry about that."

"You can't talk," Courfeyrac rasped. "You're dead."

"Oh." With that, Bahorel laid back down on the ground.

Courfeyrac stood back up and as soon as he finished trying to formulate a plan of movement, he was hit in the chest with paint. "Awww, so close!" He dropped down next to Bahorel as Enjolras came out of the shadows.

Combeferre watched from afar, his gaze staying fixed on Enjolras. He understood the move for what it was. Enjolras would sacrifice himself in order to find Combeferre's placement. Grantaire would be watching from elsewhere to see where Combeferre was, and as soon as Combeferre fired, Grantaire would be there to avenge Enjolras.

It was a predictable move, really. Combeferre crouched down a bit more. Leave it to Enjolras to play the martyr and leave it to Grantaire to want to be the hero. A move that could be countered once he found Grantaire.

There was a small flash of movement from the opposite building on the roof. Looking through his scope, Combeferre could easily make out the silhouette of Grantaire. He leaned forward on the roof, having to stand in order to aim properly. It was a risky position but it paid off as the splotch of blue appeared upon Grantaire's chest.

With a cry, Grantaire fell backwards. Combeferre put down his gun and was hit with a splotch of red upon his chest. His hand went down in disbelief as he touched the gooey substance. "You shot me," he said even though there was no way Enjolras could hear him. With that, he fell back.

The last man standing, Enjolras surveyed his surroundings. It was a bold move that Grantaire came up with, to sacrifice himself. He had figured Combeferre would be more inclined to shoot Grantaire than Enjolras.

He had been right.

"But at such a cost," he added, shaking his head. "Is this the world that we have brought about? Is this the world that-"

A splotch of red hit him in the back.

Turning around in annoyance at being caught off-guard, his eyes narrowed when he saw Marius. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Shooting you?"

"You're supposed to be dead. You were hit. And you're on MY side!"

"Oh... I don't really understand this game."

Next time, they would bring Gavroche instead.


End file.
